Page 90 of Freeing Denver
I blink, wincing at the brightness as I attempt to open my eyes. I’m lying widthways on the bed, the covers bundled around me, the TV volume as low as it can go with me still being able to hear it.
And my face is on the screen.
I push myself into a sitting position. The photograph is of me when I did a magazine article last year. The man reading out my story looks to his co-anchor. “But Ranger Luxe sure isn’t being quiet, is he?”
His co-anchor shakes her head. “Absolutely not. Ranger has been spotted across the country since his wife’s disappearance and has released another statement today.”
Text appears on the screen, and the female anchor reads it out.
“I have absolute faith that I will find my wife, and once she’s returned safe and sound, we will once again prove these allegations against her are false. The police should focus on finding Denver, not pinning her for a crime she did not commit.” The screen returns to the newsroom, the news anchor’s brows raised in apparent awe. “Powerful words from a powerful man.”
The lock in the door clicks, and I shuffle back in bed, my heart in my throat until Kitrick appears. He steps inside and closes the door behind him while balancing a plate of sandwiches.
“Ranger is looking for me?” I ask quietly.
Kitrick places the food in front of me. “Understatement. He and Colt are working together.”
My lips part and I watch as he loosens his tie. “What?”
“The city is a bloodbath right now.” He tosses his tie on a chair in the corner and sits down to unlace his shoes. “Anyone connected to the night you went missing is hiding, dead, or wishing they were dead.”
I’m torn between smiling and feeling nauseous. I knew Colt would do everything he could, but I hate the thought of him worrying, losing sleep …
“Can you get a message to him?”
Kitrick snorts. “Absolutely fucking not.”
“Please,” I say, and he meets my eye. “You don’t have to tell him where I am, just that I’m safe.”
“Denver, you’re not safe,” Kitrick says, and I almost shrink back. “The moment that baby is born, you are being sold. And that’s best-case scenario. Worst case? Someone buys youbecauseyou’re pregnant.” My skin chills and the nausea increases as I watch him.
“Then get me out of here.”
He shakes his head. “Outside this house is a thirty-foot wall. Men are on both sides of it. Beyond that are men placed along every road that leads away from here. The surrounding forest?” He stands and starts unbuttoning his shirt. “Filled with cameras and men who watch those cameras every hour of every day. A rabbit can’t get close to this place without getting shot. We wouldn’t make it past the fucking driveway.”
I throw back the covers and follow him into the bathroom. “So … what? I’m just supposed to accept that this is my life? That my baby is going to die or be … be sold?” He runs the faucet, gripping the sink as steam slowly rises. “I don’t deserve this.”
“None of them did,” he snaps, facing me. “Not a single woman who has been dragged through those doors deserved what happened to them. Do you think I like this? Do you think I want to bury them? Do you think I want to hear them screaming from that fucking room until their vocal cords are so raw they can’t even cry when they’re eventually let out? I have tried, Denver. I tried to get them out. On a few occasions, I have, but …” He runs his hand across his mouth and returns to the sink, splashing his face with water. “I’m just one person.”
My breathing is quick as I furiously wipe away a tear. “Who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am.”
“It matters to me,” I say, and he turns off the faucet, running a towel over his face before looking at me. And then I know.
I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. For years, I’ve known how to spot them. Ranger taught me the signs, and so did my dad.
“You’re a cop.”
A muscle feathers beneath his jaw. “I’m a man who cannot get you out.” He edges by me and into the bedroom, handing me the plate of sandwiches before pulling back the covers. “You need to eat and get some rest.”
I throw the plate at the wall. It smashes, the food scattering across the floor, and Kitrick has me against the wall in seconds, his hand around my neck.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses.
“What is the point in a cop being here if you won’t do something?” I whisper through gritted teeth. “You’re supposed to help people. Helpme.”
“And give up two years?” he snaps back, but relaxes his grip on my throat. “I’ve been in this hell for twenty-six months. I came out of the academy and my superiors used my rookie status. No one would know my face, so they made out like I turned, they put me in prison, and I worked my way inside this fucking cesspit.” He’s almost panting. “I agreed to this. I agreed to my reputation being dragged through the mud so Spider would trust me. I did it because I wanted to help.”
